The Wandering Jew — Complete eBook

“Goliath! unchain the dogs!—­and,
landlord! bring us lanterns, torches—­arm
your people—­open the doors!—­We
must pursue the fugitives; they cannot escape us;
we must have them—­alive or dead!”

CHAPTER XV.

Thedespatches.

When we read, in the rules of the order of the Jesuits,
under the title De formula scribendi (Institut. 2,
11, p. 125, 129), the development of the 8th part
of the constitutions, we are appalled by the number
of letters, narratives, registers, and writings of
all kinds, preserved in the archives of the society.

It is a police infinitely more exact and better informed
than has ever been that of any state. Even the
government of Venice found itself surpassed by the
Jesuits: when it drove them out in 1606, it seized
all their papers, and reproached them for their great
and laborious curiosity. This police, this secret
inquisition, carried to such a degree of perfection,
may give some idea of the strength of a government,
so well-informed so persevering in its projects, so
powerful by its unity, and, as the constitutions have
it, by the union of its members. It is not hard
to understand, what immense force must belong to the
heads of this society, and how the general of the
Jesuits could say to the Duke de Brissac: “From
this room, your grace, I govern not only Paris, but
China—­not only China, but the whole world—­and
all without any one knowing how it is done:”
(Constitution of the Jesuits, edited by Paulin, Paris,
1843.)

Morok, the lion-tamer, seeing Dagobert deprived of
his horse, and stripped of his money and papers, and
thinking it was thus out of his power to continue
his journey, had, previous to the arrival of the burgomaster,
despatched Karl to Leipsic, as the bearer of a letter
which he was to put immediately into the post.
The address of this letter was as follows: “A
Monsieur Rodin, Rue du Milieu des Ursins, Paris.”

About the middle of this obscure and solitary street,
situate below the level of the Quai Napoleon, which
it joins not far from the Rue Saint Landry, there
stood a house of unpretentious appearance, at the bottom
of a dark and narrow court-yard, separated from the
street by a low building in front, with arched doorway,
and two windows protected by thick iron bars.
Nothing could be more simple than the interior of this
quiet dwelling, as was sufficiently shown by the furniture
of a pretty large room on the ground floor. The
walls of this apartment were lined with old gray wainscot;
the tiled floor was painted red, and carefully polished;
curtains of white calico shaded the windows.

A sphere of about four feet in diameter, raised on
a pedestal of massive oak, stood at one end of the
room, opposite to the fireplace. Upon this globe,
which was painted on a large scale, a host of little
red crosses appeared scattered over all parts of the
world—­from the North to the South, from
the rising to the setting sun, from the most barbarous
countries, from the most distant isles, to the centres
of civilization, to France itself. There was
not a single country which did not present some spots
marked with these red crosses, evidently indicative
of stations, or serving as points of reference.